I Walk Alone
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart Maverick is supposed to meet his brother in Colorado Springs, but Bret mysteriously disappears. When Bart goes looking for Bret, what does he find instead?
1. Where is He?

Part I – The Disappearance

Chapter 1 – Where is He? I had been waiting in Colorado Springs for four days longer than I should have, and now I was anxious. My name's Bart Maverick, and I'm what passes as a professional poker player. You might call me a gambler; that's not a term I use. Gambling is when you wager money or something else of value on an outcome or an event in the hopes of winning more than you wagered. Poker, when played properly, is a science, an event involving skill, mathematical odds, and the ability to remember cards and read people's faces and tells. Sometimes even a little luck is involved, but not required.

I come from a whole family of poker players, including my father, uncle, cousin and older brother Bret, who is the man that was now four days overdue. We'd been traveling separately for a while, and when I got a telegram in Michigan City asking me to meet Brother Bret in Colorado Springs, I didn't hesitate. I sent back a wire that said, _'Coming.'_ That was three weeks ago. He was supposed to be here on Monday; it was now Friday afternoon and there was no sign of him.

This had happened once or twice before over the years; one of us was supposed to meet the other one and we were delayed for one reason or another – usually a poker game, a jail cell, or a woman. Poker games eventually ended, we got released from jail and put on the next stage, or the woman decided we wasn't worth cryin' over. In my case there was no woman cryin' anywhere – I had a woman named Doralice Donovan who was more than happy to see me anytime I got back to Texas or sent for her, wherever I was. We had a good thing goin', and it seemed to suit both of us.

Brother Bret, however, hadn't gotten tied up with a woman for any length of time since . . . well, not seriously since Althea Taylor had chosen one of his good friends over him. I'd worried on more than one occasion if she'd left some kind of permanent damage in her wake, but I think he was just being overly-cautious. Least that's what I hoped.

It wasn't like big brother to get that tied up in a poker game when he was supposed to meet me; same thing with a woman. If he was in a jail cell there wasn't much that I could do about it; all I had to go on was where he sent the telegram from – Provo, Utah. Considering it was the home to Mormons and anti-gambling, I would have thought that was just a stagecoach stopover for Bret. So I sent a wire to the next place he would have come across on his trip – Price, Utah. Got an answer a few hours later from the telegraph office there – the stage had passed through days ago, with a man on it matching my brother's general description.

Next large town was Moab, then Montrose, Colorado, then Hidden Hills. Each town wired back that there was, indeed, a man traveling under the name of Bret Maverick in each of those places. But the next stop on the route came up empty – Gunnison. That seems to be where the trail went cold. When the stage had stopped overnight in Gunnison, no Bret Maverick, or any other kind of Maverick, registered at the one hotel in town. There was, however, a Mr. Joseph that checked in. A Mr. Breton Joseph.

Something had changed. When either of us was in trouble, or being followed, we started using our first and middle names instead of our last name as a signal that something was wrong. Mr. Joseph boarded the stage the next morning in Gunnison, but there was no Mr. Joseph in Salinda the day after. Now, my brother Bret is a big man, six foot two, maybe three inches, and solid muscle. Someone who physically looks imposing, even if he tries to stay out of trouble. Not the kind of man who could easily slip in and out of town without being noticed. So I had to assume one of two things – either he'd deliberately disappeared between Gunnison and Salinda, or someone had forced him off the stage. Either choice was not encouraging.

There was only one solution, and that was to ride out to see which one it was for myself. Since I'd left Noble back in Texas on this trip, I was forced to buy a horse from the livery and make preparations to leave. First thing Saturday morning I was headed for Salinda, Colorado and, I hoped, my brother. If he wasn't there, the search was on, and I wouldn't give up until I'd found him.


	2. Jamison and Joseph

Chapter 2 – Jamison and Joseph

It took me almost two days to ride to Salinda, mainly because I kept stopping in every little town along the way to see if Brother Bret was holed up in any of them. He wasn't.

Salinda was not much more than a hole in the wall, and a small hole at that. There wasn't anything present besides a jail, a saloon, a modest hotel, and a barbershop. What looked like it was a general store at one time was now closed and abandoned. Oh, and I forgot, they had a livery at the end of the street. Add three or four houses in between the buildings and you had the entire town.

There was a telegraph office inside the hotel, and that's where I headed first. The clerk let me check through all the telegrams sent out the day Bret would have passed through Salinda, but there was nothing from him under any name, and nothing to anyone I knew. Next I went to the front desk of the hotel and got a room for the night, signing in under the name of Bartley Jamison. After sweet-talking the young lady at the front desk for a few minutes she allowed me to look at the register for the last week or so, and again, there was nothing that even hinted of Bret Maverick. I climbed the stairs to my room and dropped everything I was carrying onto a chair next to the bed, then threw my hat on top of that and lay down. I was so tired that I fell asleep, coat, vest, gun and all, still in place.

I slept several hours before waking, to find that it was somewhere in the middle of the night, and I was hungry. I got myself up and went downstairs to the saloon, which, like so many of the saloons in small towns, had food available at most hours of the day or night. There were six or more people inside, four engaged in a poker game, two standin' at the bar drinkin'. I bought a sandwich and coffee and took it to a table, where I sat and ate in silence, all the while watching the poker game. I had just about finished my 'supper' when one of the men at the table left. Having nothing better to do, and not ready for more sleep at that exact moment, I wondered over and asked what I always asked. "Is this a private game, gentlemen, or might I sit in with you?"

I was welcomed in and took my seat, and introductions went around the table. Jim Cross, to my immediate left, Billy Bates across from me, and Sam Winston to my right. I introduced myself as Bart Jamison. Five card draw, ten dollar ante, and I spent the next several hours in a reasonably friendly poker game. Talk turned eventually to the spate of stagecoach robberies that had occurred recently in the area, and my ears perked up when kidnapping and ransom of several of the passengers became the main topic of discussion.

"Isn't that kind of unusual?" I asked innocently. Of course my mind was racing, wondering if that could have happened to Bret. But if it had, why hadn't I heard anything about it?

"Well, it used to be," Sam explained. "Then Wells Fargo stopped shippin' their gold through the coaches runnin' this way, and the robbers got tired of comin' up empty-handed. Since this is the main road to Colorado Springs, there got to be more and more people travelin' the route. Word is they found another way to make money."

"By holdin' innocent people for ransom?" I pushed on. "Must be kinda desperate to do that. When was the last time it happened?"

"Latest one for sure was just week before last. Some Senator's son got pulled off between Hidden Hills and Gunnison, and you all know how that ended." Jim Cross sounded none too encouraging.

"I haven't been in this part of the country for a while. What happened?" I persisted.

"Found his body after the old man paid the ransom. No honor among thieves, I guess."

Everybody nodded in agreement, and my stomach turned over. "Anything happened since then?"

"Ain't heard a nothin'," Billy chuckled. "Course that don't mean much. You plannin' on goin' somewhere by stage, Bart?"

"Me? Nope. Rode in alone, I'll ride out the same way. Don't like to take the stage if I don't have to." Not exactly true, but it was true enough for right now. If that's what had happened to Bret, wouldn't this bunch know about it? "Y'all got a sheriff in this town, or just a jail?"

"No, no sheriff. We share a marshal with Gunnison, he comes over here twice a week to see what's goin' on. He should be in town later today," Cross answered.

The conversation veered onto some other topic and I let it go. It was obvious that my poker playing acquaintances didn't know anything more than they'd already told me. I'd just have to wait for morning and the marshal to find out if there was any more to the story.

We played on until well after the sun was up, and the game finally ended when Billy and Sam had to leave. Jim and I sat and drank coffee for a few minutes, then he asked me, "You in town for a while or just passin' through?"

"I could be here a couple days. Gotta talk to your marshal when he gets here."

There was a small smile on his face as he asked me, "Pinkerton?"

"Me? No, not a lawman."

"Bounty hunter?" Jim Cross was persistent.

"Really, just a simple poker player."

"If you say so," he answered as a lone rider went past the saloon. "There's the marshal now. Name's Dixon. Harvey Dixon. Come on, I'll introduce ya. Harvey's a friend of mine."

I followed Cross out the door and down the sidewalk to the jail. When we walked in it was obvious that Marshal Dixon was glad to see a friendly face. "Hey, Jim. Good to see ya. You bring me a friend or trouble?"

Cross answered the marshal with a good-natured laugh. "I brought you a friend. Bart Jamison, Harvey Dixon. Be good to him, Harvey. He won most of my money last night." Jim and I shook hands, and he turned to leave.

"You goin' so soon?"

"Yep, Harvey, Bart's got business with you, and I got a feelin' it's private. Besides, I got a saloon to take care of." I was surprised. Jim Cross had given no indication that the saloon was his. "Come on back down when you're done, Bart. I think I can scare up some breakfast."

"Thanks, I will." Once the door was closed I turned my attention back to Harvey Dixon. "Good man."

"That he is," Harvey answered. "Mr. Jamison, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

I sat next to the marshal's desk. "Understand there's been some trouble with unusual stagecoach holdups recently."

"How do you define 'unusual'?"

"Kidnapping for ransom pretty well qualifies."

The marshal nodded his head. "Yes, Mr. Jamison, it does. You have a personal interest in these kidnappings?"

"I might. Any that you know of since the Senator's son?"

"Not exactly."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Something you're not sure of?"

Marshal Dixon looked at me questioningly. "You missing somebody, Mr. Jamison?"

Nodding, I gave him the description. "Tall, dark hair, dressed like me. Gambler by profession. Comin' from Gunnison."

"Friend? Relative? Hidin' from somebody? Wanted by the law?"

"Relative. Names Bret Joseph."

"Real name?"

I sighed. What difference did it make? "Bret Maverick."

"Yours too?"

This time I nodded. "Bart Maverick. When there's trouble somewhere we drop our last name. He was Maverick until he got to Gunnison, then he turned into Joseph. Somethin' was wrong at that point."

"Are you sure he got on the stage in Gunnison?"

"I haven't been to Gunnison yet. But Bret Joseph checked into the hotel there. He was on the way to meet me in Colorado Springs. No reason for him to switch names like that unless . . . "

Dixon shook his head. "Yeah, I got it. I'll go wire Boone in Gunnison, he's my deputy. See what he can find out. You at the hotel?"

"Under the name Jamison, yeah. I'd like to leave it that way, if you don't mind."

"Fine by me. You be at Jim's place later?" Dixon still hadn't told me if anybody else had disappeared, and I had the feeling he wasn't going to until he got some answers from his deputy.

"Any place else to get food in this town?"

The marshal nodded his head. "Yeah, Jessie Barton's got a little café at the end of the street, but Jim's got better grub in the saloon."

"Then that's where I'll be, Marshal. You let me know?"

"Soon as I hear somethin', Mr. Jamison."

"Bart, Marshal. Call me Bart."

"Alright, Bart."

We shook hands and I headed back for the saloon. Breakfast sounded awful good right now.


	3. Who Can it Be Now?

Chapter 3 – Who Can it Be Now?

Marshal Dixon hadn't lied about the food down at the saloon. I sat with Cross and we ate, as he explained. "I've got a kitchen back there. I learned how to cook during the war, and I stay in practice. Had big plans when the town was growin', but you see what it looks like now."

"What happened, anyway? Bein' on the stage route, seems like things woulda expanded."

"They were well on their way. Then there was a silver strike on the other side of Gunnison. Growth all went that way. No comin' back from it, now. Someday soon this won't be nothin' but a ghost town."

I took another swallow of coffee. "What's that do for you and the saloon?"

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I'll probably move south. Maybe down to Santa Fe. Got some friends there, start over."

"You know Dry Springs?" I asked.

"Nice little town, not far from Santa Fe."

"Got a relative down there. You decide to move on down, Samantha Crawford's the one to see. She owns the Double C Ranch. She could help introduce you around town."

"Lady friend?"

"Cousin by marriage."

Jim just smiled, and never asked. There was something about this man that I liked. He didn't poke his nose in where it didn't belong. And he was a damn good cook. "You get your business taken care of with Harvey?"

"Not really. But he's checkin' into somethin' for me. Said he'd come down here when he had an answer. I gotta go back to the hotel for a while. You let him know where I went?"

Cross nodded. "Comin' back to play poker later?"

"You got any money left?" I grinned.

"Just enough."

"In that case, I'll be back. Whatta I owe you for breakfast?"

"Buy me a drink later."

"You got it, boss," I told him, and went back to my hotel room. Sleep was on the agenda, and maybe Harvey Dixon would have some information for me when I woke up. I didn't know just how long I could sit still in Salinda while my brother was out there in parts unknown.

Later in the day I got cleaned up and wandered down to the saloon. Cross wasn't there and his bartender didn't know where he'd gone, so I went to the jail. It was locked up. Not a good sign. Back to the hotel, where I found a message from the marshal waiting for me. _'Jamison – Got word from Boone, headed back to Gunnison. Recommend you join me there. Took Cross with me. Dixon.'_

I didn't like the sound of that, or the implications. Without a second thought I told the clerk I was on my way to Gunnison and paid for two more nights, then I collected my horse and headed west. It was dark by the time I got to Gunnison, which was considerably bigger than Salinda. The marshal's office wasn't hard to find, and I recognized Dixon's horse outside.

I wasn't subtle when I practically burst through the front door. Harvey Dixon didn't look at all surprised to see me, but the man in the office with him did. I assumed it to be his deputy, Boone. "Mr. Maverick, I see you made good time. This is Arthur Boone, my deputy. Boone, this is Bart Maverick, otherwise known as Bart Jamison."

"Bart Jamison Maverick," I explained as I crossed the room. "Why am I here, Marshal? Have you found my brother?"

"I sure hope not. Come over to Doc Whitney's office with me. Cross should be at Doc's by now. He was gonna send you a wire, just in case you missed my message."

"You hope not?" I questioned him, that being the primary focus of my attention. I was more than a little agitated. "Is he . . . "

Dixon nodded. "Dead. Yeah."

The doctor's office was almost across the street, and that was the longest twenty-five yards I ever walked, repeating the same thing over and over with every step. _'Not Bret. Please, not Bret.'_

Straight inside the office and all the way in the back. Doc Whitney was there, but I barely looked at him. When he saw me and the expression on my face, he pulled the sheet off the body on his table. I knew those clothes – Bret's black gambler's coat, the gold and white vest, the white ruffled shirt and black string tie. Even the tan pants. The hair was black and curly. Everything on that table was oh, so familiar – except the man himself. That wasn't my brother . . . and all the air left my lungs in a long _'whoosh.'_

I shook my head with relief. "Those clothes . . . they're my brother's. But that's not Bret Maverick wearin' 'em."

"No?" The doctor asked.

"No." I looked at the physician for the first time.

He was tall and relatively young. Maybe forty years old, with sandy-colored hair and a trim build. And a facial expression that hovered somewhere between displeasure and delight. "Happy for you. Bad for me."

"You're Doc Whitney. I'm Bart Maverick. Any identification on the body?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Except this." He handed me a wallet, which held only a photo. The wallet had 'Bret Maverick' engraved on the outside in gold – and the photo was the one Pappy had taken the day Bret and I got conscripted into the Confederate Army. It was Bret's wallet, alright, but there wasn't so much as one dollar in it.

"That's my brother's." I showed him the photo. "This, too. Whoever this is, somebody went to an awful lot of trouble to make sure it was taken as Bret. How'd he die?" There was no trace of blood anywhere, at least not on the front of the body.

"Broken neck," was the doctor's answer. "Not hung, just snapped, like somebody breaking a twig. Took an awful strong person to do that to somebody this size. Your brother capable of that?"

"Honestly? No. Bret's just about the size of this fella. He's strong, but I don't think he could manage that. Mind if I keep the wallet? For when Bret does turn up." I asked Marshal Dixon the last question. He'd been standing in the doorway, waiting to see if I knew the man on the table or not.

"What if your brother did kill this fella?" he asked me now.

"Then he had a real good reason. Bret's no more a killer than I am, Marshal. We're peace lovin' poker players. That's all."

"Yeah, Maverick, keep the wallet. Come on back to the office with me, I want you to explain this name business to Jim Cross. We may need his help with all this. I've got some more information for ya, too."

I tipped my hat to the doctor and started to follow the marshal out. Doc Whitney's parting words were, "Find out who this man is so we can give him a proper burial, would you, Harvey?"


	4. Ransom, Revenge, Coincidence

Chapter 4 – Ransom, Revenge, Coincidence

"So that's the story behind the name switch," I told Jim Cross while we all sat in Harvey Dixon's office. "Sorry for the subterfuge."

"No, no, I understand. Makes sense when you think about it. And you're sure those were your brother's clothes?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Only things I can't vouch for are the boots and the underwear. There had to be a reason for the masquerade. And the name change. Marshal, you said you might have more information for me?"

"There's a stop between Hidden Hills and Gunnison – just a way station to change horses. I'd like to ride out there in the morning and see what we can find out. You interested in goin' with me?"

"Of course I am. What time?"

"Be here about eight. Jim, you goin' back to Salinda tonight?"

I was surprised when Cross shook his head. "Naw, I'll stay over. Too late to go now. Bart, how about supper? There's a little café down the street with the best steak in town. I could stand to eat somethin' I didn't cook."

"Sounds good to me. Come on, I owe you a meal."

"Harvey, you mind if I ride out with you tomorrow? I got a couple questions I wanna ask Pete Somersby if he's still at the way station."

"Fine by me," Dixon told him. "I'll see you boys at eight."

We left then, with me following Jim down the street. We didn't say much until we got seated and ordered food, and I was drinking one of my ever-present cups of coffee.

"Bart, I don't know your brother, or you very well for that matter. But doesn't this all strike you as odd? I mean, him not turnin' up in Colorado Springs, and then his disappearance, and the man dressed in his clothes. What if he didn't make this trip at all? Could this all have been planned to lure you here for some reason?"

I hadn't looked at it that way, but what if Cross was right? And then the questions started in my head. Why? Nobody was after me – at least nobody that I could think of. Why would they go to all this trouble, just to get me, where? To Salinda? To Gunnison? And what about Bret's clothes? They wouldn't be impossible to duplicate, but the wallet and the photo were the real things. And Bret wouldn't just have handed those over to someone; not without a fight. And that brought me right back to the biggest question of all – why?

"Maybe. But why? I can't think of a single reason to do that. And it sure can't be for ransom. We ain't rich, we're gamblers. What could they want from me?"

"Somethin' besides money?"

That only made sense if the somethin' they were after was – my brother. Or me. Or both of us, for that matter. But again, the question came back to – who?

"I don't know. The only thing we've got is . . . us. And I can't think of anybody that wants to hurt us. Or worse."

"Could it all be coincidence?" The saloon owner asked.

That thought had crossed my mind and been discarded. Someone had deliberately set out to make me or anyone that would contact me think that Bret Maverick was dead. No, for whatever reason, this was deliberate.

"I don't think so. Too many things had to be done intentionally to make this look like Bret. The wallet and the photo – those belonged to my brother. Either he gave them up voluntarily – which I can't believe – or they were taken from him, probably by force. That's not good."

Cross shook his head, agreeing with me. "No, it's not. I'll tell ya this, though – Harvey Dixon will do everything he can to find your brother."

I sighed and pushed my plate away. No matter how good the steak was, Bret was missing. My stomach and head were in complete agreement – neither was interested in any more food. "So will I."


	5. Crescent Way Station

Part II – The Search

Chapter 1 – Crescent Way Station

I'd say it was a restless night, but that would be an understatement. My body might have been lying in bed but my brain was everywhere else, desperately trying to figure out where my brother could be. I was downstairs drinking coffee by seven in the morning, and Jim Cross showed up not too long after that. "Eaten already?" he asked me, and I shook my head.

"Stomach's not interested," I told him. "It's a bad habit. Bret's always on me about it." I changed subjects on him. "You know the fella out at the way station?"

"Yeah, he lived in Salinda at one time. Pete Somersby. Keeps the stage people pretty happy; a good man to have around. If Pete saw anything unusual, he'll remember it."

"You stay and have breakfast. I'm goin' to get the horses," I started to get up but Cross stopped me.

"Already taken care of. They're over at Harvey's office."

I sat back down. "Why, Jim? We just met a couple nights ago, and you've gone out of your way to help me. And I doubt if it's because of my sparkling wit or charming personality. So, if you don't mind my askin', why the interest?"

The waitress brought more coffee and took his order. I even gave in and got some biscuits. When she left he gave me his answer. "I had a brother, older than me. He died when we were kids. I know what it's like to lose your best friend. Maybe I can help prevent you losin' yours."

"I . . . yeah, thanks. I appreciate it. It's a tough thing to go through."

"Ya never get over it, no matter how much time passes."

We sat in silence until the food came. I thought about Dodge City, and all the time I believed Bret was buried up on Boot Hill. I knew exactly what he meant.

Shortly before eight we went down to Dixon's office. "Good mornin', gentlemen. I had a feelin' you'd be on time."

It took us about two hours to ride out to Crescent Way Station. When we got there it looked like something was very wrong; the gates were closed, and there were no horses in the corral. I got down and opened the gates and we rode on through. All three of us had our guns drawn when me and Jim followed Dixon in.

The inside was a mess, torn apart from top to bottom. There was dried blood all over the floor, and a man's body sprawled in the back corner of the room. Even from the front door I could tell it wasn't Bret, but Cross turned to me and said, "Somersby."

There was a small second room, with several beds in it, and the room was just as destroyed. On one of the beds was a familiar looking valise, standing wide open. Clothes were haphazardly pulled out of it, all of them Bret's. His derringer was under a vest I'd seen him in many times, and the gun had blood all over it. One shot had been fired; there was still a bullet in the other chamber. "It all belongs to my brother."

I felt a hand on my arm and knew it was the saloon owner. "Steady there, it doesn't mean anything. It could be anybody's blood."

I let out a real slow breath and tried to stay calm. "I know." Harvey Dixon had gone back into the first room, to examine the body, and Jim now followed him in. I gathered up Bret's belongings and put them back in the suitcase; the derringer I picked up and held onto. Then I grabbed the valise and went back to the other room.

The marshal had turned Somersby over and was looking for a wound of some kind. He gave up when the man's head lolled to one side. "Looks like his neck's broken, just like the one in town. Awful lot of blood here, for no gunshot wound. Somebody was bleedin' pretty good."

"When was the last time a stage came through here?" I asked.

"Woulda been the one your brother was on. The Denver stage used to stop here, but they don't anymore. The Colorado Springs stage only runs when there's passengers, about once a week. Whoever did this is long gone. You find anything in there could help us?"

I shook my head. "I just put it all in the valise. Let's take a look." I carried the suitcase over to the table, which was still standing, then set down the derringer. Dixon picked it up and examined it while I unpacked.

"This his, too?"

"Yeah. Tends to carry it in his vest pocket." Nothing inside that I could see except clothes. I did notice that his leather vest was missing, and there was something shiny and metal wrapped up in a shirt. The marshal pulled the shirt out; inside it was a pair of handcuffs. I looked at the men standing next to me. "Not his."

Dixon started searching for the passenger log that all way stations are supposed to keep. The Denver to Crescent log was there, but not the Provo to Colorado Springs log. Looked like the missing log was what caused the destruction of the room. "Who was on that trip from Provo? Besides your brother? And who did these belong to?" He held up the handcuffs.

"How do we find out?"

"Let's get Pete buried and see if there's any kind of trail. If not, we'll head back to Gunnison. Looks like I need to wire Provo, and we'll go from there. The stage line, too. They'll have to get somebody new out here to the way station. Come on, Cross, I can use your help. Maverick, you check the other room, see if you can turn up anything we might've missed. And grab anything that looks like we might need it later."

The marshal and the saloon owner headed outside; I went back into the other room. I tried to find anything that might be useful, but I kept coming up empty-handed. There was another of Bret's shirts that I'd missed in my haste to gather up his clothes, and I spotted something else on the floor that I hadn't seen earlier. It was a piece of fabric, a small square of blue silk. It looked like it had been torn off of the corner of something, but I couldn't tell what. I picked it up and stuck it in my pocket and then promptly forgot about it.

By the time I had scoured the rooms for anything else of importance and gotten outside, Dixon and Cross were almost done with the grave. I'm pretty sure the marshal would have liked to take the body back to Gunnison, but considering how long Pete had been dead and the fact that there was no spare horse to carry him on, I didn't see that they had much choice in the matter. I left both men at the graveside and gathered the horses for a search of the area for tracks of any kind; after just a few minutes it became apparent that there were none to be found. Whoever rode away from Crescent had covered their trail fairly well; it had also rained since the coach came through.

We left and headed back to Gunnison. I'd tied Bret's valise onto my saddle, and it bumped against my leg as we rode. I worried that I might not have anything left of him but his clothes – and the derringer – but at least we hadn't found him in the same condition as Pete Somersby. My mind was a jumble and it seemed to be refusing to give me any kind of clue as to what was going on. Obviously Bret had been at the Crescent Way Station, as had the dead man back in Gunnison and whoever committed the murder of the station agent. And then there was the missing logbook of the passengers. Whose name was in that besides Bret's, and why was it so important that it not be found? Who did the handcuffs belong to, and what were they doing wrapped up in one of Bret's shirts?

Not much was said on the way back and we made good time. Dixon went straight to the telegraph office, and Cross went to see the doctor. I took Bret's things back to my hotel room and unpacked them, looking everything over carefully. There were some spots of blood on one of his travelin' shirts, nothin' big, and his thousand-dollar bill was pinned inside his tan coat. I sat down on the bed and checked his pockets. A handkerchief, two cigars and some matches, and his watch. I discarded the notion that Bret wasn't on his way to Colorado Springs; there were too many of his personal possessions here for it simply be a way to lure me to where exactly?

A headache had gripped the top of my head and wouldn't let go. I lay down and closed my eyes for a few minutes, hoping it would go away of its own volition. Instead I fell asleep, and didn't wake up until I heard the knocking on the door and Jim's voice. "Bart, Bart, are you in there? Dixon needs to see you."

I struggled to open my eyes and then got up and reached for the doorknob, pulling it open just as Cross was about to knock again. "What's goin' on? He get an answer that quick?"

"Nope. He just sent me to get you. Said it was important. You alright?"

"Yeah, just had a headache. Let's go see what the marshal's got."


	6. Maverick, Malone and Missing

Chapter 2 – Maverick, Malone and Missing

We hurried down to the marshal's office, my emotions running somewhere between fear and terror. Harvey didn't look all that upset when I came crashing through the door, but then, it wasn't his brother that was missing.

"Maverick, I got a wire from a fella named Stansbury in Denver, runs the Pinkerton office there. You know him?"

Of course I knew Arthur Stansbury. Ginny Malone, one of Pinkerton's top detectives, worked for Arthur. As a matter of fact, Bret and I had helped her with a job that Arthur needed taken care of in St. Louis a while back. We'd agreed that working with or for Stansbury would be like being employed by Pappy, and while the job we'd helped with had turned out to be quite pleasurable and profitable, it wasn't something we'd care to continue on a long-term basis. But then anything that smacked of 'work' wasn't something we wanted to be involved with long-term.

"I do, marshal. Bret and I helped Stansbury with somethin' in St. Louis. What does Arthur want?"

"He's lookin' for an agent of his, a woman named – "

"Ginny Malone," I finished Dixon's sentence. Was Ginny on the coach with Bret? And then it hit me, just like a lightning bolt, and I searched for the piece of blue silk I'd so carelessly abandoned in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and laid it on the marshal's desk. "She must have been on the stage with Bret."

"What's that?" Dixon asked as he picked up the small square, examined it, and passed it to Jim Cross.

"If you'd ever seen Ginny, you'd understand. That's Brother Bret's way of lettin' me know Ginny's with him." I thought back to the first time I'd seen her, on a railroad car heading for Colorado Springs. _'In walked one of the most beautiful creatures God ever saw fit to create. She was tall, just a couple inches shorter than me, with long, flame-red hair and show-stopping blue eyes. The kind men talk about but you never actually see._

 _She had on a black Stetson hat with a blue and silver hatband and black gamblers clothes, with a long frock coat and a blue silk chemise cut down low that clung to her like a second skin. The clothes fit her perfectly like they were made especially for her.'_ After we got to know Ginny we realized the clothes were just part of a fine lookin', utterly fearless woman.

"She's Arthur's best agent. If she was with Bret . . . that would explain why the passenger log was missin' from the way station. Whoever killed Somersby didn't want it known they had Malone as well as my brother. Did Arthur say anything else?"

Dixon shook his head. "Nope. Just wanted to know if we'd seen her. Why would she be on the coach to Colorado Springs?"

I sat down in the chair next to the marshal's desk. Actually, collapsed into it is more like it. "Workin' a case. Or gettin' ready to work a case. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse."

Cross chuckled just a bit. I'd almost forgotten that Jim was there. "Remember when I asked if you were Pinkerton? And you said no."

"I'm not, Jim. Neither one of us is. We just . . . well, we got into a situation where Ginny needed our help. And if you'd ever seen her you'd know that we gave it to her. Ain't a man alive that wouldn't give her anything she asked for." I paused, to let that sink in. "Besides, there was a handsome reward involved, too."

"And you figure she was there? Because of a scrap of blue somethin'-or-other?"

"Yeah." I was sure of it.

"Then I'll wire him back and tell him yes."

"Tell him I'm here, too, would ya?" It was a gamble, that maybe Stansbury would reveal more to me than to the marshal. "And that Bret was on the stage?"

"You sure there's not more to this than you're tellin' me?" Dixon asked.

I nodded my head. "I swear, on my brother's life, I don't know any more than you do."

"Alright. You stayin' here until I get an answer from the stage people about who else mighta been on that trip?"

"Yes, sir, I'm not leavin' town until we know more."

"What about you, Jim?" Harvey asked.

"I gotta go back," Cross responded. "I've got a failing business to run. Bart, you want me to check you outta your room? I can take your things down to the saloon."

"That'd work. I'll pick up some clothes here, see what the stage company answers. For now, I'm goin' back to the hotel. Marshal, I'll stop by later if that's alright with you."

"Fine by me. There's a general store down the street, oughta have somethin' to suit your taste."

I tipped my hat and left the office, giving Cross a chance to talk to Dixon alone if he wanted it. Jim followed me out, however, and walked down the street with me. "Thought you were goin' back to Salinda."

"I am. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doin'."

I kinda laughed at that. "I ain't got a clue. But I gotta find Bret, and I need to know if Stansbury's got somethin' goin' on he hasn't told the marshal yet."

"You figure he'll wire you direct?"

"He might. Depends on whether he thinks Malone needs help or not."

"Alright. Take care of yourself. I'll see you back in Salinda." We shook hands and Cross went back for his horse.

After I'd bought a change of clothes at the store, I returned to the hotel. My head was still hurtin' and I needed time to think. What had Bret gotten himself into this time? Just who was the actual murderer of Pete Somersby and the Bret ringer? And what was it they wanted?

I did my best thinkin' when I was playing poker, and from what I'd seen there was more than one saloon in Gunnison. I got cleaned up and changed clothes, then wandered down to the café Jim had taken me to, actually eating a meal this time. From there I crossed the street to the Mountain Lady Saloon and found myself a game. I was still there several hours later. I'd gotten no further in my determination of who and what this was all about, but at least I was winning at poker. Small consolation when all you wanna do is find out what happened to your brother. And that's where I was when the marshal showed up later lookin' for me.

"Thought I might find you here. I got a wire from the stage people. Bret Maverick was the only coach passenger this trip until Virginia Malone boarded in Montrose. She bought a ticket for Colorado Springs. I haven't heard anything back from Stansbury. You?"

I shook my head and laid down my cards. My three ladies beat anything else at the table, and I gathered up the pot. "Nope, but I think it's time I go check the telegraph office, just in case. You comin' with me, Marshal?"

"Gotta go relieve Boone. Come by the jail if you hear anything. I don't like the idea of a murderer runnin' around out there with innocent people missin'."

"Especially when one of 'em's named Maverick," I added. I turned to my playing companions. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. I have a brother to go find. Thanks for the game."


	7. The Bad Man Behind Blue Eyes

Chapter 3 – The Bad Man Behind Blue Eyes

I was lucky enough to catch the telegraph clerk before he closed down for the night. "Maverick, Maverick, let's see, I think I do have one here for a Maverick. Didn't know where to find ya, son, sorry."

"That's alright," I told him. I took the message eagerly, hoping it would give me some kind of a lead on Ginny Malone's presence on the stage to Colorado Springs. Arthur was being his cagey self, however. _'Malone returning to work for important assignment. Might need assistance. You interested?'_

"You got time to send one back?" I asked.

"Sure. Here, write it out." The clerk handed me the form and a pen. In just a few minutes I had it done. _'What did you have in mind?'_

"That's it?" he asked. "That's the whole thing?"

"Yes, sir, that's all. What time are you here in the mornin'?"

"I'll be open at seven."

I tipped my hat and paid for the wire. "Thanks. I'll be here."

I went out the door, and the clerk locked it behind me. Marshal Dixon was just entering the jail and I walked on down, his deputy leaving as I got to the door. "Boone."

"Marshal's inside, Maverick." Boone looked like he'd had a hard day and was glad to be going home.

Harvey didn't look like his day had been any easier. "Any word from Stansbury?"

"Just this." I handed the message over.

"Don't give too much away, does he? These Pinkerton people are sure a close-mouthed bunch."

I sat down next to Harvey's desk. It was getting to be a familiar spot. "I sent him one back. There should be an answer in the mornin'. When does Boone get here?"

"Seven, eight o'clock. Come in early, we'll get breakfast."

"Marshal?" I waited until he looked at me. "Thanks for your help."

"It's my job, Maverick. Besides, Cross is a good friend, and he thinks a lot of you for some reason. I trust his judgment."

I kind of chuckled. "Yeah, I don't understand it either. I'll be here tomorrow."

"Good-night."

"Night, Marshal."

It was another one of those long, sleepless nights, where all I did was worry about Bret and Ginny. Not that I needed to worry about Ginny Malone, but she'd disappeared right along with my brother, and in six days there'd been no trace of either of them. Reading didn't help; neither did playing Maverick Solitaire. I finally decided a cigar was in order and went downstairs to smoke, but that was just something else that didn't help. In desperation I went to the livery and saddled the horse I'd bought in Salinda, and headed back out towards Crescent Way Station. I don't know what I was hoping to find; maybe something that I'd missed the first time out there.

For some reason luck was with me – or maybe it was just the moon. I rode in on the western side of the way station, and the moon was still bright enough in the sky to reflect off of something on the ground. Something I hadn't seen in the daytime. I dismounted to take a closer look and when I bent to pick it up realized just what I'd found – my brother's two-headed coin. The same one he'd used how many times to trick me into some scheme or other. No doubt exactly where he'd dropped it, to let me know that whoever was in charge of the disappearance had taken them west and not east. But that still left me with significant questions – who had them both, and why? I followed the road west and about five hundred feet further on came across another object – a silver star earring. I remembered Ginny wearing it on the train where we first met her. To keep me pointed in a westerly direction?

I walked my horse further down the road and found tracks that we hadn't spotted before – three horses, one carrying a lighter load than the other two. That would be the horse Ginny was riding. I mounted and followed the tracks another two or three miles until they disappeared in the rocks. Before that happened, they were joined by two other horses. One appeared to be carrying a rider, the other probably supplies. I searched the area for quite a while but had no luck picking the trail back up, so I turned and headed back to Gunnison. Now I was glad that I hadn't been able to sleep and had listened to my instincts.

The sun was up by the time I got back to town, and I headed straight for Harvey Dixon's office. It was still too early for the telegraph office to be open, but I had no doubt the marshal would be interested in what I had to tell him.

XXXXXXXX

There was no one in the café but the two of us, so we managed to get fed while I gave Dixon the rundown on what I'd learned. "There's a whole set of caves and old mine shafts up in those hills. Perfect spot to hide out and not be discovered. You check the telegraph office and I'll get saddled and meet you back at the jail. I'll have Boone round up a couple part-time deputies and meet us out at Crescent – maybe we can get lucky and find another clue." Harvey drank the rest of his coffee and then asked me, "What made ya go back out there, anyway?"

I shrugged, honestly not able to give him a better answer. "Couldn't sleep. I just kept wonderin' if we'd missed anything, and I wasn't gonna find out by sittin' in my hotel room. So I rode out. I'll see you at the jail." With that I got up and tossed some money on the table.

"Hey," Dixon called as I walked away, "I invited you to breakfast."

I just smiled and kept walkin'. When I got to the telegraph office it was already open, and there was a message waitin' for me. It wasn't at all what I expected, and it chilled me to the bone.

' _Malone and Maverick need all the help they can get. Charlie Daggett escaped prison eight days ago. You in?'_


	8. Blood Moon and Bodies

Chapter 4 – Blood Moon and Bodies

' _I'm in.'_

That was the wire I sent back to Stansbury. Within five minutes there was an answer that I'd take with me back to Dixon's office. _'Bart Maverick is acting under the authority of the Pinkerton Detective Agency and is a fully licensed agent of same Agency, effective immediately. Please grant all rights and privileges as an officer of the law. Arthur Stansbury, Regional Director, Pinkerton Detective Agency, Colorado Springs, Colorado.'_

"That's some wire," the clerk commented as he handed it to me. "You must be pretty important to them."

"Nope," I answered. "I just happen to be here. Thanks."

I gave Arthur's last two wires to the marshal when I got over to his office. He read them both and then looked up at me. "I take it back."

"What's that, Harvey?"

"About them bein' a close-mouthed bunch. Even the Feds don't move that fast." The marshal seemed impressed.

"Remember who we're dealin' with. Charlie Daggett escapin' prison is a big deal, and it's the Feds he got away from. And if it's him that's got Ginny and Bret . . . "

Dixon nodded. "I know. There's no time to waste." Boone was just coming in the back door of the jail, but what Harvey told him sent him right back out again. "Better go get five or six more men, Boone. Charlie Daggett's the man we're lookin' for."

Boone whistled and turned around, closing the door behind him. He didn't have much to say, but he seemed to have a lot of respect for Dixon. "That was not a happy man," I remarked.

The marshal shook his head. "Boone's had his own run-in with Daggett, a long time ago. Let's just say Charlie's not high on his list of friends and leave it at that."

I could well imagine. Even talking to Daggett when he was in leg irons and chains had sent chills up my spine. And the thought of what he was capable of doing to my brother . . . especially after what we'd done to him and what remained of his gang.

"Here," Harvey handed the wires back to me. "Better hold onto these, just in case you need 'em for anything." I folded 'em and put 'em in my wallet. Harvey was right, never knew when they might come in handy. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." I winced when I said the words – how many times had I told Bret that very thing? And right now his life might be dependent on it.

It didn't take us as long to get out to Crescent as it had the first time we went there, and I brought Dixon in the way I'd approached it last night – from the west. We found the trail right away and it led us back up into the hills, where the marshal's experience and familiarity with the area proved to be invaluable. After less than an hour of checking out caves and old mines we found traces of an abandoned campsite – and the mate to the earring that Ginny had left on the trail. There was no doubt in my mind that Daggett and whoever else was with him had my brother and the missing Pinkerton agent.

"Coulda gone anywhere from here. But why is he draggin' your brother and Malone with him? That's what I can't figure out. Be a whole lot faster to disappear without the extra baggage. I mean . . . "

"It's alright, Harvey, that's just what they are at this point. And why the whole elaborate ruse of murdering the look-alike? Unless . . . " I stopped there, my brain working overtime to figure this thing out. "Maybe Daggett's after somethin' else besides Bret and Ginny, and he won't be content until he's got it, too."

"And what might that be?" Dixon asked.

"Me."

That was gonna require some explaining, so I tried to give him a brief account of the whole episode that Bret I and referred to as 'The Night of the Blood Moon.' Harvey sat and listened, without interruption. I give him credit for not laughin' out loud and tellin' me what a crazy man I was. When I finally quit talking he looked at me in all seriousness and asked, "You all part Lakota? Cause that's the kind of thing they only do for blood."

I shook my head. "No, but I did somethin' once they might've taken kindly to." I was thinking about Lakota Pass and the deeding of the mountain that I'd fallen in love with, bought and given to Kimimela.

He nodded. "Yeah, I believe it. The whole story, I mean. Course Daggett wouldn't, but you might be right. If he wants revenge, he ain't gonna be satisfied till he's got all three of ya. That gang was his family; I don't imagine he was real pleased when he lost 'em all."

"Any idea who this could be with him now?" I was hopin' that Dixon knew more about Charlie Daggett than I did.

"Maybe." I waited a minute or two to see if there was anything more forthcoming, but the marshal remained silent. Shortly after that he wandered out of the cave and down the hill, still scouring the ground for tracks or broken shrubs, anything that pointed us in the right direction. I followed him out and stayed far enough behind not to disturb him, but he didn't seem to find anything else. Finally Harvey stopped walking and turned back to me. "Daggett had a sister, a few years older than him. Word is she had a son named Jefferson. Jefferson Davis Lynch. Could be him."

I was about to ask a question when I heard horses coming. Must be Boone and his 'posse.' Within just a few minutes they arrived, six or seven men altogether. It didn't take Harvey long to send them back out. "Boone, you and Rivers head west. Stenson and Moore, take that short trail north. Drago and Willie, southwest. Maverick, come with me. I've got a hunch."

"South, Harvey?"

"Yeah, towards the Sawtooth Mountains. He gets down in that forest, nobody'll ever find him."

"What are we waitin' for?"

A lot of things, as it turned out. Our horses were worn out, we had no provisions, and it was, after all, just a hunch. As soon as we found water, we stopped for an hour to give the horses a chance to rest. According to the marshal there was a trading post about twenty miles south of there, and we made our way slowly towards it. By the time we reached it we were going no further for the night, unless we intended to walk and carry the horses. We bought supplies and an extra horse to pack it all on and set up camp for the night.

The next morning brought cloud cover and cooler weather, and after a pot of coffee and some biscuits we set out once more. Somewhere around late morning Dixon found another set of tracks, five horses riding together, and another small piece of blue fabric caught on a bush. Daggett must not have been payin' attention because he should have spotted the signal Ginny left us. Maybe he figured it was so insignificant that we wouldn't catch it. Maybe he just didn't care.

I had been mulling over in my mind the idea that Daggett wanted two things – to get far enough into the Sawtooth Mountain Range that he could escape anybody trailing him, and to get his hands on the only thing he was missing before he extracted his revenge – me. Why kill only two of the people responsible for the demise of his so-called 'family', when he had a good chance to make all three of the perpetrators pay? It made sense that he was the man responsible for the murder of the Bret ringer – he assumed, rightfully so, that I would no doubt come running when I thought my brother dead. After all, that's just what I'd done.

What Daggett wasn't counting on was the persistence and tenacity of the man that I was riding with – Marshal Harvey Dixon. I had the feeling that recapturing Charlie Daggett was more than just a job for Dixon – there was something personal underneath it all, but Dixon wasn't volunteering the information, and I wasn't asking. He knew what my stake was – potential life or death, not just for Ginny Malone, but for my brother and me as well. None of us would ever be safe with the outlaw running around free.

So we kept riding, and kept tracking, another two days before it began to look like we might be catching up to them. We found one of the horses dead, apparently shot when he couldn't go any further. Somebody was now forced to ride double, and from the change in the tracks it looked like Ginny and Bret. They were running out of time, and we all knew it. I only hoped that wouldn't change Daggett's plan to keep them alive until he could get his hands on all three of us at the same time. I didn't wanna find any more bodies on the trail. Of any kind.


	9. Revenge

Chapter 5 – Revenge

Three days after we left Gunnison was the next time we caught a break. It rained during the night and the four remaining horses became incredibly easy to track, especially because the animal carrying their supplies was now missing a shoe. We'd ridden through the night and the rain and actually caught a glimpse of them not long after daybreak.

We were up near the top of one of the smaller mountains and they were in a partial valley below – close enough to be seen but far enough away not to hear us. "There's Daggett," Harvey pointed out, and he was at the head of the procession. The supply horse followed, then Bret and Ginny on a third horse, and the fourth rider brought up the rear and kept what appeared to be a rifle pointed at Bret's back. Ginny had her hands cuffed in front of her; Bret's hands were tied behind his back.

The Pinkerton agent had on her usual custom-made outfit, but the coat looked torn and ragged. They'd obviously ridden through a lot of brush and trees with no thought to avoiding brambles and branches. Bret had on clothes I didn't recognize. "That's Ginny and Bret," I told the marshal.

"Not much beyond a kid," Dixon pointed out about the fourth rider. "Must be the nephew. They're less than half a day ahead of us. If he knows we're after him they won't be goin' too much further. Not if he intends to add you to his collection."

"That's a hell of a note, ain't it?" I asked. "I'm sure he probably has somethin' a little more sinister planned than just shootin' us. You got any ideas about how we handle this?"

"One or two," Harvey answered. "They all involve a pretty significant risk, Maverick. I wish I could tell ya they didn't, but you'd know I was lyin' to ya. It's a gamble, at the very least."

"Look, marshal, here's the bottom line. If we can get Bret and Ginny outta this, I'm willin' to take my chances."

He nodded, knowing exactly what I meant. "If we can keep pushin' 'em forward for another day or two, it should give Boone and some of the others a chance to catch up with us."

"How do you know they're followin' us now?"

Dixon grinned, the first time since we left Gunnison I'd seen anything that resembled a smile. "Because I trained Boone. I guarantee you he's behind us, doin' his best to catch us. And if I know Art, he will. All we need are the odds in our favor . . . "

That was good enough for me, at least for right now. After several days with this man, I'd come to believe anything he told me. There was no nonsense, no joking when it came to his pursuit of Charlie Daggett. The last thing I wanted was to be on Harvey Dixon's wrong side.

The group below us kept moving, and we did the same. At least I knew that Bret and Ginny were still alive. That would have to suffice for now.

XXXXXXXX

I heard a twig snap, and I knew somebody was close by. Harvey and I had camped the next night, and I was laying there counting the stitches on my saddle when I realized we weren't alone. I said a quick prayer that it was Boone and not Charlie Daggett, and glanced over towards the marshal. Harvey was in the same position he'd been in a few minutes ago, looking for all the world like he was sound asleep, until I saw a dancing flame from the fire reflect off of the gun barrel sticking up under his shirt sleeve. I couldn't reach my Colt but Bret's derringer, fully loaded, was in my coat pocket and it slid out easily enough. We both lay there for a minute or two, waiting for whoever it was to make the next move, but all remained still until I heard someone whisper, "Harvey."

I shifted my eyes from the man across from me to the very edge of the firelight and saw Arthur Boone standing perfectly still watching Dixon. The marshal moved then, very slightly, and answered back, "Come on in, Boone." Art crept forward until he could be clearly seen, then Harvey sat up but kept the gun pointed at his deputy, just to be safe. "Where's Rivers?"

"I sent him home. He's got a wife an two little babies there. Stenson, Moore and Drago are behind me."

"What happened to Willie?" Dixon asked, and I relaxed just a bit.

Boone was at the fire now, and he sat next to it and rubbed his hands together. "Willie's horse snapped a leg not far from the trading post. He was supposed to head back to Gunnison and send a wire to that Pinkerton fella that we were on the trail. You seen 'em?"

"Yesterday. We're close, they're down to four horses. How far behind?" I assumed Dixon meant Stenson, Moore, and Drago.

"Couple hours. They been makin' good time. You got a plan yet, Marshal?"

I wanted to know the answer to that question myself. "Sort of."

"Wanna let me in on it?" I asked, certain that I was going to have to be some kind of bait to spring the trap.

"Let's wait till morning," Harvey answered, and Boone just nodded. I sighed and closed my eyes while I tucked the derringer back into my coat. I hadn't questioned Dixon's judgment before, I wasn't gonna start now. The marshal knew what was important to me, and I figured he'd do the best he could to make sure nothing happened to my brother. As for me . . . I'd just have to wait and see what developed.

XXXXXXXX

It was almost dusk the next day when Stenson, Moore, and Drago caught up to us. They were the quietest posse I'd ever been involved with. One minute we were eating beans and jerky, the next we were surrounded by the three men. Harvey stifled a laugh when he saw the surprised look on my face. "Thought you were a gambler," he told me. "So much for keepin' a poker face."

"You train all of them, too?" I questioned, referring to the marshal's earlier remark about Boone.

"Nope," he answered. "Boone did."

Stenson sat down and grabbed the coffee pot. "We've all had our run-ins with Charlie Daggett, Mr. Maverick."

"Bart, please. You got a name besides Stenson?"

"Jimmy. He came through these parts a while back, left his mark everywhere. We shoulda known the Feds couldn't hold onto him. He's got your brother and the Pinkerton gal?"

I nodded as the other two men sat down and passed the coffee pot. "The three of us stopped his escape attempt last year."

"Yeah?" Drago asked. "That whole wild tale with the train and the Blood Moon? So you three got rid of the rest of his gang?"

"That whole wild tale. Not by ourselves, though; we had some help. Two U.S. Marshals and a lot of dynamite."

"Any idea what he's after now?"

"Yeah," I answered grimly. "Revenge."

"Daggett don't do nothin' halfway. So he's after you, too, huh?" Stenson again.

"That's the idea."

All eyes turned to Dixon. "You got a plan, Marshal?" Boone asked.

"As a matter of fact . . . "


	10. Set the Table

Part III – The Rescue

Chapter 1 – Set the Table

"So that's it, huh?" That was me, and that was about all I could think of.

"That's the plan." Dixon looked my way, waiting to see what objections I had. I think he was surprised that I expressed none. He was right, his plan was a gamble; maybe it was a good thing I was a gambler.

"I don't like it," Jimmy Stenson commented.

"Can't say I'm fond of it myself, but I don't see that we have much choice. Maverick, you up for it?" That was Art Boone, and he made a lot of sense.

"Nope, but I agree with you and Harvey. I can't think of anything any better. Moore, Drago, what about you two?"

Moore, as usual, said nothing. Drago nodded, then, "Yep," was his follow-up. "Gotta be just right to work. Or you could be a dead man real quick, boss," he told me.

"Somethin' I'd rather not be," I offered. "Tomorrow mornin'?"

Everyone seemed to agree, tomorrow was the best time to give it a try. The posse bedded down for the night, all except me. I expected there was gonna be no sleep this night, a circumstance I was well-acquainted with. It wasn't right for me to keep any of them up, so I made myself a spot on the outer edges of the group and lay down, trying to think of any other method of rescue that might work. I couldn't come up with one, and I struggled mentally for what seemed like hours before I finally fell asleep out of sheer boredom.

When I woke up, I was alone. As we'd agreed on. Today was the day and now was the time.

XXXXXXXX

It didn't take me long to catch them, but the timing had to be just right so I wouldn't get myself shot or worse, killed, before I'd had a chance to set the table. About two hours after I first spotted them they came across a small stream, and I took my chance.

Daggett watered his horse, sitting in the saddle the whole time, then dismounted and took the rifle from the nephew. The kid, and that's about all he was, got down off his horse and Daggett handed him the canteens to fill. He tucked the rifle under this right arm and roughly grabbed Ginny by the coat, yanking her down off her mount. For just a second his focus was on her and the rifle barrel pointed at the ground.

I saw my opening and took it. Charlie Daggett was quick, I'll give him that, but I had that split-second advantage. "Put the rifle down, Daggett, and back away from Malone. Bret, get off the horse. Lynch, turn around nice and slow and put those hands in the air. Make a wrong move and you'll get the bullet first. Understood, Charlie? The kid's the first one I shoot."

"Bart, what the hell are you doin' out here all by yourself?" Bret sounded like he was mad, but I saw the smile on his face, amongst all the brusies. Ginny's face, too.

"What does it look like, Big Brother? Rescuin' you."

Bret swung his leg around and slid down off the horse. "Get over next to the kid, Daggett, and take the gun out of his holster. Put it down on the ground, nice and easy. Now yours, the same way. Remember who I shoot first. Ginny, see if you can work those knots loose on Bret's hands."

"You ain't gonna get away with this, ya damn fool gambler. No matter how many men you got behind you in those woods," Charlie snarled at me.

"Oh, don't bet on that. You're lookin' at the whole rescue party," I tried to sound as convincing as I could. For this exact moment, I was telling the truth. I didn't know where Harvey and the rest of his men were, I just knew they were waiting out there somewhere in case I couldn't pull this off. If I could convince Daggett that I was the only one here and he somehow managed to slip away from me, there would be more than enough pursuers to run him down. And he wouldn't be expecting a second onslaught.

It was a big risk, but it had the potential for a high reward – the capture of Charlie Daggett, as ugly a killer as ever buckled on a gun belt. How in the world did we get mixed up in somethin' like this? The mess on the train I could sorta blame on Bret; he was the one that let Ginny think we were Federal Marshals. Of course, given that it was Ginny, I woulda done the same thing. I couldn't see how this one was his fault at all.

Malone hadn't said anything so far, but now she showed a tiny grin on her face. "Arthur owes me some new clothes. Looks like he owes you a whole lot more than that. Nice to see you, Bart."

"You too, Ginny. How you doin' with that rope?"

"It's comin'. Lynch has got the key to the cuffs, don't you Jefferson?"

"Threw 'em away a while back," the kid tried to bluff.

"Look in his inside vest pocket," Bret advised while Ginny kept workin' on the rope that bound his hands.

"Move away from the kid, Daggett. Lynch, let's see the vest pocket."

Just as his nephew dug into the vest, one of the horses spooked and knocked Bret right into Daggett. In just a second Charlie had his arm around Bret's throat and a knife that I didn't know he had at my brother's neck. "Alright, gambler. Hand over the gun or you can guess where the blade goes. Jefferson, get it from him."

The kid smirked as I turned over my Colt. What choice did I have? Daggett wouldn't hesitate to slit Bret's throat, and laugh while he was doing it. And all I got for my rescue effort was a gun butt across the face, which put me flat on the ground.

Some time later I tried to sit up but found it impossible to do. While I was unconscious one of the two miscreants had tied me the way they'd tied Bret, hands behind my back, and I was flat on my face. I strained to look and saw Bret propped up against a tree next to me. There was no sign of Malone anywhere, and no one else in my line of sight.

I moaned, and Bret stirred. "Where's Ginny?" I managed to get out.

"Don't know. Daggett took her off somewhere. What in the hell kind of stunt was that, anyway?" There was both concern and aggravation in big brother's voice.

"Not the kind you think it was," I answered. "Where's Lynch?"

"Right here, smart-ass," the kid answered. He had his uncle's mouth, alright. "Don't worry about Pinkerton. He won't kill her, yet."

"Small comfort," Bret answered. "How's your face?"

"Hurts," I told him. "Are you alright?"

"So far. Why'd you try a darn fool stunt like that all by yourself, anyway?"

"What was I supposed to do, let him drag the two of you into the mountains so he could kill you?"

"You found the way station? And the bodies?"

"Oh yeah. And everything else. That's why I'm here."

"Great. Now he can drag the three of us off into the mountains and kill us."

There was noise coming from behind some trees and I managed to get my legs underneath me and roll into a sitting position, finally. The next thing I could see was Ginny, staggering ahead of Daggett, lookin' like he'd just beat the hell out of her. Her coat was shredded and her chemise ripped up. Obviously he'd tried more than beatin' her, and she'd put up a fight.

By the time I could see Daggett it was evident that she'd gotten some licks in, too. He was gonna have a black eye and had blood running down his face, and I noticed a distinct limp. "Ginny?" Bret called to her.

"I'm alright," she answered.

"Bitch," was Daggett's only remark.

"You find his horse?" the kid asked his uncle.

"Yeah, finally. No sign of anybody else around so far."

"How much further we have to go?"

"Not far. I got a particular spot in mind. Nobody'll ever find 'em." Daggett grinned, and I said a silent prayer that Harvey and the posse were close.

Ginny dropped to the ground next to me and searched my face – for what, I'm not quite sure. Whatever it was, she must have found it, because there was just the trace of a smirk for one second before it disappeared. She looked over at Bret, and I saw his expression change momentarily, too. They might not know what was goin' on quite yet, but they had the suspicion that things weren't exactly what they seemed.

I tried to smile and quickly gave up that idea. My head felt like somebody had set it on fire. I'd just have to wait and watch, right along with my fellow captives. And pray that Harvey Dixon was as smart as I thought he was.


	11. Spring the Trap

Chapter 2 – Spring the Trap

I don't know how far Daggett's idea of 'not far' was, but I was about to find out. He stuck Ginny in front of me and gave my brother a horse to himself. I hoped that would give Bret a breather and a little more comfort for a while, and me a chance to talk to Ginny.

"Are you really alright?" I whispered to her as soon as we started off.

"Not for his lack of trying," she answered.

"He hasn't managed . . ."

"Not so far. What's really going on, Bart?"

"You ever meet Harvey Dixon from Gunnison?"

"No, but I've heard some things. Are they true?"

"If they're good they are." I tried to shift my weight so I could get closer to Ginny's ear. "He's trackin' us, with his deputy and three other men. Just don't be surprised by anything."

"Who was the man they dressed up like Bret back at the way station?"

"No idea. A ringer to get me out of Colorado Springs, and it worked. I found the blue silk at Crescent, and Harvey got a wire from Stansbury lookin' for you, so Arthur knows what's happenin'."

"Why'd you all play it like this, instead of just coming in full force?"

"Dixon figured the first thing Daggett'd do would be kill you and Bret, and we agreed this way gave us a better chance of that not happenin'. Any idea where we're goin'?"

"None. But wherever it is, Daggett's been there before."

"He's been through this area. All I know is Harvey's got somethin' personal in all this; Daggett won't escape again."

"I hope you're right. I don't know if either one of us can take another beating."

"I'm sorry it took so long to put all the pieces together."

"You got here; that's what counts. But I'm worried about Bret – Charlie's gone out of his way to beat on him every chance he gets."

"It'll be over soon. One way or the other."

"Let's hope." We rode in silence for a while; Daggett in front, then the supply horse, then Ginny and me, followed by Bret and Lynch, with the ever-present rifle pointed at Bret's back. The kid had it figured that would keep me in line, and he was right. The sky started to cloud over again, and soon we could hear thunder and rain in the distance. Finally, Daggett yelled out, "Jefferson, bring 'em up here."

Lynch herded us like cattle right up behind Charlie, who'd stopped in a relatively secluded stand of White Fir and Junipers. "Thought you said it wasn't far."

"It's not," Daggett told him, "but we ain't goin' there tonight. I wanna enjoy myself, not be dodgin' rain and lighnin'." It was chilling to hear the words come out like that; to listen to this man talk of murder and pain as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was in his mind, but it sure wasn't in any of ours. "Get the cuffs out, Jefferson, I don't wanna be worried about nobody gettin' untied. I'll take the first watch, see if you can catch some shut-eye."

"Does he feed us at all?" I whispered to Ginny.

"Not if he can help it," was her unsettling response.

It seemed this night we were in luck. There was some leftover rabbit from last night and Daggett threw it in a pot over the fire. He untied Bret's hands and cuffed them in front of him, then did the same with mine. When the meat was cooked he dropped it on a plate in front of us, handed Bret a canteen, and laughed. "Bon appétit. This may be your last meal, so don't waste it."

I stayed out of the way and let the two of them have their fill, then ate what was left. We passed the canteen back and forth carefully, trying to drink and not spill any, wondering if this would be the last water we might get. Once the rain started it was easier to fill Bret in on what I'd told Ginny earlier without Daggett overhearing any of it. As I tried to explain what I knew, I took a good look at his face. Not only was he cut and bruised almost everywhere, I could see the pain and exhaustion in his eyes. He tried to pretend there was nothing wrong, but I know my brother well enough to know he hadn't slept in days. Probably too worried about trying to protect Ginny from Daggett's crude attempts at conquest.

"Lie down and get some sleep, Bret," I told him as quietly as I could. "I'll look out for her."

"Sorry I was irritated before," he responded. "I know you been doin' your best. Just don't do anything foolish, hear me? We'll get outta this." With that he gave up and leaned back against the Juniper; in just seconds his eyes were closed and he was asleep.

"Why don't you do the same thing?" I suggested to Malone. "Harvey won't make a move while Daggett's awake; that much I'm sure of. Get some rest while you can." She gave me a sweet little smile and closed her eyes, too. Charlie sat and glared at the three of us, not doubt delighting at the prospect of getting revenge on the people he held mostly responsible for the demise of his 'family.' It didn't seem he was gonna do anything but sit and stare, and I even dozed off for a while.

I couldn't have slept too long, Daggett hadn't moved. Bret's head was leaning against my shoulder on one side, and Ginny was propped up against my right arm. It was just beginning to get dark, and I looked at the two sleeping against me. Now that Bret's eyes were closed he didn't look quite so bad as he had before; all that was visible were the marks of physical punishment on his face and not the fear and loathing in his eyes.

Ginny, frankly, looked all the more battered, perhaps because her punishment had been more recent. How anyone could abuse a face that beautiful was beyond me, and it made me think of Doralice. I wondered for a moment if I would get out of this alive and be able to tell the woman waiting for me back in Little Bend just how much she'd come to mean to me. I thought about all the time I'd wasted, afraid or unwilling to get involved even though I was attracted to her, and what I'd give to have that time back now. She remained in my mind's eye, flitting around the edges of my consciousness, as I drifted back off to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again it was dark and the rain was still coming down. Daggett was on the other side of the fire, asleep I assumed. Lynch had the rifle and was positioned in what had been Charlie's spot. I wondered how long it had been since they'd swapped places, and where Dixon, Boone, and the others were right now. From the look of my two companions, I hoped that the marshal and his posse wouldn't wait too long to make their move. Then without wanting it to, the thought that maybe something had happened to the lawmen crossed my mind. What had I done that might ultimately lead to all of our deaths? Had I made it worse with my futile attempt at rescue? I couldn't afford to think like that, and I knew it, but my mind kept wandering back to all the times in our lives the best of intentions had gone terribly wrong. Was this just another of my failures? And could it cost us everything?


	12. Catch the Prey

Chapter 3 – Catch the Prey

I was awake a long time before either of the people alongside me were. Daggett was back to sitting on the other side of what was left of the fire, cradling the shotgun, and the kid was saddling the horses. There was no sign of Dixon and the posse. That made me anxious, to say the least. I had no doubt that if they didn't show up soon, all three of us would meet our maker today. And none of us were in a hurry to do that.

I nudged Ginny awake first, and then Bret. "Wish I could offer you some coffee," I told Bret, and he almost laughed.

"I don't know what it tastes like anymore," he replied.

"Shut-up over there," Daggett ordered, and I did just that. I didn't want to do anything that would set him off.

"Horses are ready, Uncle Charlie," Lynch announced.

"Come over here and hold the rifle, Jeff," Daggett instructed, and the boy did so, keeping the gun trained on Bret for the moment. The outlaw unlocked my cuffs and growled at me, "Behind the back, gambler," and then relocked them behind me. So much for the ropes today. The aim of the rifle barrel shifted to me, and Charlie did the same with Bret's cuffs.

"Get up on the horse, bitch," were the next words out of his mouth, and Ginny tried. When she couldn't make it by herself, he backhanded her and then roughly shoved her up in the saddle. "You ride with her again, and I don't wanna hear none a that talkin' I heard yesterday," he told me, and got me up on the horse.

Last was Bret, and he somehow managed to scramble into the saddle without help, no doubt wanting to avoid aggravating the murderer as much as I did. Daggett mounted and grabbed the reins of our horse, then Bret's horse; Lynch once again trained the rifle on my brother's back and took the supply horse's reins. We were in rockier terrain, and the going was slower than yesterday; once or twice I caught a flash of something but wasn't sure if there was someone there, or my imagination was working overtime. We rode for about two hours and then made an abrupt turn into another grove of Junipers that obscured what looked to be an abandoned mine. Daggett pulled his horse to an abrupt halt.

Wherever we were going, we had just arrived.

XXXXXXXX

"Off the horses," Daggett ordered, and we did our best to comply. I saw Bret swing his leg over the saddle and slide down; I did the same, then acted as a buffer to help Ginny slide down, too. "Inside," he demanded, shoving Bret in the back with his pistol. Lynch was behind Ginny and me with the rifle, and he grabbed the horses' reins and tied them outside. "Sit down," was the last order, and the three of us dropped into spots on the ground.

"We're gonna play a little game," Daggett told us, almost gleefully. "The three of you get to decide who dies first."

"What if we don't?" Ginny dared to ask.

"Then I get to choose who and how many shots it takes."

All I kept thinking was, _'Keep your mouth shut, Bart, keep your mouth shut,'_ but that didn't seem to work, because what I heard was me saying, "Me first. Take me first."

Bret yelled "NO!" Ginny came as close to a scream as I'd ever heard her. Daggett was more than willing to accommodate me and grabbed me by the collar, jerking me to my feet and outside into the daylight. That's just about the time all hell seemed to break loose. I heard the horses raise a fuss and then the sound of them stampeding off greeted me, and through it all I heard Dixon's voice, "Get down, Maverick!" and I did my best to do as ordered. Daggett turned loose of me and I dropped to the ground just as bullets started flying everywhere. I heard an "oof" from inside the mine and could only assume that someone had tried to tackle Lynch, then the rifle went off and a body crashed down.

Hands grabbed me and dragged me out of the way; I remember yelling "Bret!" and not getting an answer. I heard an explosion right alongside my head and then nothing else for a few minutes, and I struggled to get to my feet. Hands pushed me back down and I could see Boone trying to say something to me, but I couldn't hear anything. I was temporarily deafened by the gun that had gone off right next to my ear. Finally, finally, I saw bullets tear through Daggett in several spots, and his body fell practically in front of me, still with an evil smirk on his face.

I saw the rifle tossed out of the mine, and Lynch followed it quickly with his hands in the air. Dixon approached Charlie Daggett's body, hammer still pulled back on his gun, and said something I couldn't understand, then put one more bullet right through the outlaw's head. Stenson helped Ginny out of the mine, with blood running down her arm; Drago and Moore carried Bret out. I yelped and finally got my feet under me, while Boone took the handcuff keys from Lynch's pocket and freed my hands and Ginny's, followed by Bret's. I couldn't see blood anywhere but his forehead; either he'd been cracked across the head with the butt end of the rifle or his scalp creased by a bullet. I was flooded with relief that it appeared to be nothing more serious than that. As soon as Ginny got to me she fell into my arms, and we held on to each other while Dixon approached. My hearing returned slowly.

"You alright?" Harvey asked, and I nodded. "Head wound," he told me, pointing to my brother. "He should be okay." They laid Bret down gently outside of the mine and Boone produced a blanket to cover him. I was so happy he was alive that I almost kissed him. I kissed Ginny instead.

Somebody made a fire, right there, and put on a big pot of coffee. Boone took care of Ginny's arm; she'd been lucky. The shot was a through-and-through. What was left of Daggett's body was wrapped in another blanket and tied across his horse, then everybody sat down to drink coffee and get warm. It was a subdued celebration. Finally Ginny and I ate something while we waited for Bret to come around. I've never been quite so happy that somebody was dead as I was at that exact moment.

Bret woke up slowly, not knowing exactly what had happened, and Harvey began to explain everything. "When we left you yesterday mornin' we circled back around, goin' out of our way to make sure there were no tracks for Daggett to spot. The hardest thing to do was sit back when we knew Daggett was so close and we couldn't be sure what was goin' on. Then when your horse's tracks joined the rest, we reckoned the best we could do was wait for him to make his move. I knew there were loads of old mine shafts around here, and I figured he was lookin' for a specific one. When he turned in here we couldn't wait any longer."

"Good thing you didn't," Ginny explained. "Daggett had a particularly gruesome idea – see who volunteered to die first."

"Any takers?" Drago asked.

"Yeah, my brother," Bret responded distastefully. "The self-professed coward."

"Doesn't surprise me," the marshal told him. "Not a cowardly bone in his body."

"Don't say things like that, Harvey. Somebody might believe you, and then my reputation would be ruined." I gave them a sheepish grin and all of the posse members laughed. Even Ginny smiled. Only Bret remained grim and serious looking.

Boone made sure that everyone else got fed, even Lynch, then we broke camp to see how far we could get away from the mine. It was slow going – Ginny's arm made it difficult for her to ride too fast, and Bret's head started up bleedin' again once or twice. It didn't matter; we were on our way back to Gunnison.

Two days later I was riding with the marshal and I had to ask him. "Why'd you put that final bullet into him, Harvey?"

"Just to be sure he was dead at last," was the answer I got, but I wasn't buyin' it. I wasn't gonna push him for any more information, and some time later I asked Boone the same question.

"That's right, you ain't from Gunnison," Boone remembered. "That young mother that Daggett killed in Kansas – and the three-year-old boy – that was Harvey's sister and nephew. There was no way Daggett was goin' back to the Feds anyway other than dead."

A lot of things I had no explanation for now made perfect sense. "I wouldn't have expected anything else," I replied.


	13. Pinkerton Man

Part IV – The Aftermath

Chapter 1 – Pinkerton Man

It had been a long time since I'd seen Bret this mad, and I was glad that he'd waited until we were alone before I saw it now.

It took us five days to get back to Gunnison and in that time frame we'd come to some conclusions. We were headed back to Little Bend, rather than on to Colorado Springs, Agent Malone was going to Texas with us, and my brother was not speaking to me except when absolutely necessary. The first couple of days I thought his head was bothering him too much to talk; he was awfully quiet around everyone and didn't have much to contribute in the way of conversation. As his head wound started to heal I began to notice that maybe it was just me he was quiet around, and by day four I figured there was gonna be hell to pay when he finally decided to speak to me.

Ginny was quiet, too, but for an entirely different reason. I noticed she spent a lot of time around Bret, tending to his wound and then his moods, which seemed to improve considerably when she was near. He looked after her a lot, too, and it surely appeared there was somethin' brewin' there that had caught fire back on the St. Louis job and not entirely faded away. By the time we reached Gunnison I was sure of it, and I tried to stay out of their way and let love or whatever it was find its own path.

I went to see Harvey Dixon after we got back to town and asked him to tell Jim Cross thanks for everything next time he went to Salinda and how to reach me if Cross decided to move to Santa Fe. I was determined to help out in any way that I could. I would see Jim again, but I didn't know that for sure at the time.

Harvey and I finally sat down and had a conversation about his sister and what happened in Kansas with Daggett and the gang. Maybe now that Charlie was in the ground where he belonged, a certain lawman in Gunnison could get on with his life and not keep lookin' over his shoulder. If I ever got back up that way I promised to stop in and see how Harvey was doin'.

I went back to my hotel room and was surprised to find my brother waitin' for me, madder than that chicken we'd set on fire when we was kids. I'd barely gotten inside when he had me by the coat collar and I thought I was gonna have a fight on my hands.

"You idiot!" were the first words out of his mouth, and he practically shook me.

"Put me down," I told him as calmly as I could. I knew he was mad; I assumed it was because of the offer I'd made Charlie Daggett right before the posse showed up.

"You stupid son of a . . . "

"Careful," I reminded him. "She was your mother, too."

"What were you thinking?!"

He set me back down but didn't quite turn loose of me. Just in case he wanted to shake me again, no doubt. "I was thinkin' about keepin' you an Ginny alive long enough for Harvey and Boone to get there."

"That woulda done me a lotta good if you were dead."

"Well, I'm not."

Bret glared at me. "Not for lack of trying."

"What was I supposed to do, Bret, let him shoot you? Or Ginny? Besides, it all worked out. Now, let go of me."

Before I could say anything else, there was a pounding on the door and a female voice in the hall. "Are you trying to kill each other?"

I pulled away from big brother at last and opened the door to Ginny. "Nope, it's all one-sided. Anything you can do to calm him down would be appreciated."

"Calm him down? I'm surprised he didn't do that before."

"Thanks a lot. You're a big help." I stepped aside and let her come in and had to duck as she took a playful swing at me. At least I think it was playful. I closed the door behind her and scrambled over to the far side of the room before Bret had a chance to get hold of me again.

"You didn't have to volunteer." Bret was still upset with me, but at least he wasn't yelling anymore.

"Again, I ask, what was I supposed to do, let him shoot one of you?"

Malone sat down and stayed out of our way, just in case. She didn't need that arm aggravated. "He has a point, Bret."

"No, he doesn't. I didn't keep him alive this long just to let him get shot by some – "

"Cold-blooded killer?" I asked. "Who would have been happy to shoot any of the three of us without a moment's notice?"

Bret sat down on the bed. Maybe what I was tryin' to tell him finally made some sense. He looked up at me and for just a second I would have sworn there was the faintest glimmer of tears in his eyes. "What good does it do me to be alive if you're dead?"

"Can we change the subject?" I asked brightly. "Is anybody in the mood for lunch before we catch the stage for home?"

XXXXXXXX

Two weeks later the world had turned upside down. Bret and I were in Little Bend, and Malone was with us. The job Arthur needed her for could wait until her arm healed, and she'd come back with us to get pampered by Pappy and Uncle Ben. And pamper her they did. The most astonishing thing was that Arthur Stansbury was on his way to Little Bend, and we weren't sure quite what he wanted. He'd been secretive about his purpose and simply told us when he'd be arriving.

A day or two passed before a buggy pulled up outside and I heard Lily Mae shout, "Incoming!" Since I was the only one moving fast enough to get downstairs before she did, I was almost knocked over by Doralice as she swung through the front door. I heard and saw nothing for the next few minutes but the blonde hair and the aquamarine eyes, and by the time I came up for air Bret and Ginny were both down there with us. It did not go unnoticed that they were holding hands.

"Miss Donovan, I assume?" Ginny laughed, and I noticed Doralice doing the same.

"Agent Malone," came the reply, and I was pleased to see the two embrace as if they'd known each other their whole lives. "Thank you for bringing him back in one piece."

"Thanks for lending him to us," Malone answered. "He sure did come in handy."

"He has a habit of doing that," Doralice explained as I slipped my arm around her waist.

A familiar voice called from the kitchen, "Come on out here, I've got coffee and cake." And within seconds Lily Mae had six people around the table. There was no question where Pappy and Uncle Ben would be; not with two beautiful women in the house.

We spent the entire afternoon around that table, telling stories on each other and generally just having a good time. Something had changed between Ginny and Bret; they were openly affectionate with each other. I caught Pappy watching them a time or two, and for once he looked absolutely delighted.

We all decided to go into Little Bend for supper, and we even persuaded Lily Mae to go with us. A new cantina had opened up down the street from Maude's, and it sounded like a meal there was a good idea. Doralice and I drove back early in the buggy, to see if we could arrange for Maude to join us, and we twisted her arm until she agreed.

The expansion of the saloon had been completed, and Maude's was quite a place. She had three full-time bartender's working for her, besides four saloon girls and the ladies Donovan themselves. And she kept trying to convince me to be her floor manager. I was tempted, but not quite convinced. Doralice, while I'm sure she had an opinion on the subject, was wise enough to stay out of the decision.

Maude insisted everyone return to the saloon afterward for coffee and we all accommodated her. It was a loud and happy evening, with the men playing poker and the women playing their own game against each other. I had to laugh, after all those years of poker against the Maverick men, Lily Mae came out the hands down winner!

Two days later Bret, Ginny and I drove into town to pick up Arthur Stansbury and Doralice. I couldn't wait for Pappy and Uncle Ben to meet Arthur – poor Ben would probably feel like he was outnumbered. Arthur looked about as happy as I'd ever seen him, and he actually gave Ginny a hug. He didn't say too much on the way back to the house, and I wondered just what he had in store for Agent Malone.

It didn't take long to find out. After introductions had been made, Arthur and Ginny adjourned to the porch for a few minutes of private meeting. When they came back inside I noticed she was wearing a new pair of silver star earrings – just like the ones she'd left along the trail to help us track Daggett – only this pair looked like they had a diamond inset in them. Arthur proudly introduced us to "Captain Malone," and beamed like a proud father rather than just a boss.

"Well, it certainly pays to work for you," Pappy remarked.

"She's suffered her share of bumps and bruises," Arthur reminded him, and then turned to Bret. "I can't give you a promotion, because you don't work for me," he pointed out to my brother, "but I can give you this," and he handed Bret a certified draft for twenty-five hundred dollars. "Just a small token of the Federal government's appreciation for your ordeal."

I wasn't sure if Pappy was going to kiss his oldest son or beat him, until the grin broke out on his face. Money has a habit of soothing even Pappy's ideas about 'working' for a living. "But what about . . . " Beauregard started, until he saw that Stansbury still had something in his hands.

Arthur gave the paper to me, and I was almost afraid to look at it. When I finally did I was more than pleased. It was another draft, this one for five thousand dollars. "There's something that goes with both of them, Mr. Maverick," Arthur addressed Pappy. "If they ever decide to quit playing poker for a living, both of them have a standing invitation to come to work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency as Special Agents, in any branch of the company they choose."

"And lest her contributions appear forgotten, a brand new clothing allowance has been authorized for Captain Malone. And as of right now she is on a month long vacation, to be observed here in Little Bend, Texas, or anywhere she chooses." He glanced quickly at Bret and Ginny; they were holding hands again. "I assume that vacation will be here in Texas, Captain Malone?"

"Yes sir, I believe that would be my destination of choice," Ginny answered happily. She turned her attention to Bret. "Unless you have someplace else in mind?"

"No, ma'am, here would be just fine," he told her.

Doralice looked at me and quietly asked, "Is there somethin' goin' on there? Sure looks like it."

I grinned at her, for once happy that I didn't get the girl. I already had one of my own. "I do believe that somethin's gotten rekindled, yes, ma'am." I wrapped her up in my arms and kissed her, right out there in front of God and everybody.

Later that afternoon I had a chance to talk to Arthur alone. We were sitting on the front porch, smoking cigars, and the rest of the day had been relatively peaceful and quiet. Despite the similarities between Arthur and Pappy's personalities, they seemed to get along fairly well. "That was all just for show, right, Arthur?" I finally asked him. "That whole business about me and Bret workin' for you as special agents, right?"

He gave me an odd look, almost an _'I never say things I don't mean'_ look. "No, Bart, it wasn't for show at all. You've both proven yourselves to be valuable men to have as agents. I was completely serious, whether you think I was or not. Not that I think your brother would ever come to work for me. But I'm hoping someday you might."

I was startled. I was always the one who was skirting along on the outside of the law – after all, there was that _'almost'_ saloon robbery when I was a kid – and the conviction for murder in Montana that nearly got me hung – not to mention two or three other scrapes I'd managed to wiggle out of – and Arthur had me pegged as the one who might work for him. And then I got to thinking. How many times had I played lawman? Or let people think I wore a badge of some sort? And why did I keep doin' it? I had no desire to be anything other than what I was – a gambler, an honest poker player who didn't break his back with sweat or a long day's work – and I intended to stay just that. And within just a few days I'd been offered not only one, but two chances to change professions. I had to laugh. And even though I might not continue to walk alone through this life – I wasn't about to start workin' for a livin'.

"Thanks, Arthur, for the offer. Kinda makes me think about things a little different. Who knows, maybe someday I'll settle down and look you up."

"I'm serious, Bart. I'm not the only one at Pinkerton impressed with what you've been able to accomplish. You ever change your mind about things . . . "

"I'll be sure and let you know."


End file.
